


First Move

by Siria



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9688058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: Finn is acclimatising.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheafrotherdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/gifts).



> Thanks to trinityofone for feedback!

Finn was exhausted, but it seemed like he was the only person on the base to be thinking longingly of a pillow and a bunk and the chance of being blessedly horizontal for a standard hour or eight. Kirnkyuuk may not have looked very much like Jakku—its grasslands rose and fell under a pale violet sky—but its summer days were as bad as any desert's. Finn couldn't get used to it. The air rasped hot and humid in his throat every time he breathed in. Closing yourself into a steamy, soapy 'fresher for five minutes was one thing, but this was all day long. It was too much. He said as much to BB-8, but the droid didn't seem inclined to sympathise much. 

"Within normal operating parameters for _you_ , maybe, not for me," Finn said from his perch atop a ladder, where he was fiddling with a dodgy intake valve on his T-70's rear repulsor array. He couldn't really say he missed anything about his time in the Order—not without lying, not without ignoring the nightmares that still jarred him awake most nights—but right now if someone offered him one of their starkly efficient climate control systems to install on this base, he'd accept it without a qualm.

BB-8 said something very rude in response. 

Finn sighed. He tugged up the hem of his tank top to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but the cotton was already soaked and couldn't do much good. The early evening light slanted oblique and orange through the hangar bay entrance, but it didn't feel like the temperature was going down with the sun. Finn couldn't understand why no one else around him seemed to care very much about the heat. Some of them even seemed to enjoy it. Ziff was performing maintenance checks on the next X-Wing over while bobbing his head in time to the music he'd piped through a set of portable speakers. In the distance, Finn could hear Pava and Wexley bickering enthusiastically about the fire pit someone had apparently built outside and what kinds of meat they should grill over it tonight. Finn had no appetite for anything other than a cold glass of water right now. 

He gave up the intake valve and his concentration span for equally lost causes and clambered down the ladder. Water, a shower, and bed, Finn told himself firmly. Maybe tomorrow the Kirnkyuuku climate would spontaneously develop a monsoon season and this heat would break. "Not knowing my luck," Finn grumbled as he headed for the crew quarters. 

"What about your luck, buddy?"

Finn startled, and turned to see that Poe was right next to him. Finn hadn't even noticed, and it had been a long time since he'd been able to ignore Poe Dameron's presence. 

"Uh," Finn said. "Nothing. I mean, not that I don't—but it's a—aren't you hot?"

"What? Why?" Poe asked, looking down at himself. "I'm fine." He was dressed in what passed for cobbled-together formal attire among the Resistance—his old Starfighter Corps dress uniform with the insignia swapped out. It was a little threadbare now, but the cloth was clearly good quality and heavy and just looking at it made Finn start sweating all over again. 

"This planet is… is like someone cross-cloned Jakku and a thermal spring!" Finn said, throwing up his arms. "The only reason I'm still wearing pants in public is I don't want the General to yell at me, and you're wearing that?"

Poe blinked, then shrugged. "I grew up on Yavin 4," he said, as if that explained everything. 

Finn opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. It was so hot he couldn't think of a rebuttal to that. "Sure," he said eventually, "okay, well, I'm going back to my quarters to pass out, so." He turned to trudge off down the hallway but was stopped by Poe's hand on his elbow. 

"You're not coming to the ceremony?"

"The what?" 

"There are some bigwigs arriving tonight from the K'Heen Dominion," Poe said. "The General thinks they're close to agreeing to bankroll our next push, but to do that we need to make them think we're not just a ramshackle group of outsiders in hiding on an Outer Rim planet."

"We are _mostly_ a ramshackle group of outsiders hiding in the Outer Rim," Finn said. 

" _But_ if we're dressed up, if we've got some music, some food, we dim the lights just right in the assembly hall so it looks impressive but they don't see the crack Rey put in the wall—"

"Look, we didn't know that droid was going to be there, it was an accident and as explosions go—"

Poe waved a hand. "Anyway, BB-8 was supposed to tell you about it, it starts in an hour. The K'Heen will want to see you there—the famous defector, you're a big draw in our favour—just not like this." He took a step back and squinted at Finn. "Then again, buddy, depending on what their taste in holovids runs to…"

"Uh," Finn said. 

"Relax, I'm joking," Poe said, though he had a funny look on his face. It was the kind of expression that made Rey smirk and Master Skywalker tell terrible jokes, though Finn thought their sly suggestions were totally off base. 

"Okay," Finn said slowly, "but I think I'm going to pass. It's hot and I'm tired and I don't have anything fancy to wear, and the General wouldn't want—"

"The General was pretty insistent," Poe said. "Look, I get that these kinds of ceremonies are stuffy, but someone in Green Squadron knows someone who's got a source for a pretty good vintage of snimi-berry ice wine. We'll go, make sure the General sees us do at least five minutes of glad-handing with the dignitaries, and then we sneak out with some of the ice wine and have our own party. Simple."

"Simple," Finn repeated dubiously. He may not yet have reached the status of Resistance veteran, but he could still tell a plan that was bound to go wrong when he heard one. 

Poe lifted a shoulder. "Okay, so maybe there'll be a formal dance or two first."

Finn froze. "Dancing." He had _heard_ of dancing, of course. 

"Just the Corellian two-step or a cumbia, something like that, we don't have enough musicians to do anything that needs a full orchestra but—" Poe stopped; his expression took on a tinge of mischief. "Do you know how to dance, buddy?"

"It can't be that difficult to pick it up," Finn said weakly. "It's just, you know, moving your body around. Right?" He imagined how the General might react if the Resistance's famous defector did something to botch their chances of a much needed alliance. Then he tried very fervently not to imagine that scenario.

"Sort of," Poe said. He took a step closer to Finn, which was just close enough for Finn to be very conscious of the fact that they were the only two people in the hallway. "How does this sound: you go back to your quarters and freshen up. The General cobbled together a dress uniform for you earlier and got someone to leave it there for you. You put it on, you come find me, and I'll show you how to dance, okay? It'll be good."

Summer on Kirnkyuuk was humid and uncomfortable and hot, and the hand that Poe rested on Finn's hip, just for a moment, was a weight hot enough to feel like a brand. It would have made sense for Finn to pull away, to get enough space so that he could think. Instead, he leaned in: astonished at the way Poe's body swayed in sync with his, at the way Poe bit at his lower lip. 

"See?" Poe said over his shoulder as he continued on down the corridor. "You already know the first move."


End file.
